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    <title>1. CHAPTER II</title>
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    <div class="chapter" id="id1033432"><h2>1. CHAPTER II</h2>


<p id="id1033437"><span id="id115630"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->

Jane Fairfax was an orphan, the only child of Mrs. Bates’s
youngest daughter.
</p>

<p id="id1033442"><span id="id115640"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
The marriage of Lieut. Fairfax of the _______ regiment of infantry,
and Miss Jane Bates, had had its day of fame and pleasure,
hope and interest; but nothing now remained of it, save the melancholy
remembrance of him dying in action abroad—of his widow sinking
under consumption and grief soon afterwards—and this girl.
</p>

<p id="id1033447"><span id="id115646"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
By birth she belonged to Highbury:  and when at three years old,
on losing her mother, she became the property, the charge,
the consolation, the fondling of her grandmother and aunt, there had
seemed every probability of her being permanently fixed there;
of her being taught only what very limited means could command,
and growing up with no advantages of connexion or improvement,
to be engrafted on what nature had given her in a pleasing person,
good understanding, and warm-hearted, well-meaning relations.
</p>

<p id="id1033450"><span id="id115653"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
But the compassionate feelings of a friend of her father gave
a change to her destiny.  This was Colonel Campbell, who had
very highly regarded Fairfax, as an excellent officer and most
deserving young man; and farther, had been indebted to him for
such attentions, during a severe camp-fever, as he believed had saved
his life.  These were claims which he did not learn to overlook,
though some years passed away from the death of poor Fairfax,
before his own return to England put any thing in his power. 
When he did return, he sought out the child and took notice of her. 
He was a married man, with only one living child, a girl,
about Jane’s age:  and Jane became their guest, paying them long visits
and growing a favourite with all; and before she was nine years old,
his daughter’s great fondness for her, and his own wish of being
a real friend, united to produce an offer from Colonel Campbell
of undertaking the whole charge of her education.  It was accepted;
and from that period Jane had belonged to Colonel Campbell’s family,
and had lived with them entirely, only visiting her grandmother
from time to time.
</p>

<p id="id1033445"><span id="id115660"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
The plan was that she should be brought up for educating others;
the very few hundred pounds which she inherited from her father
making independence impossible.  To provide for her otherwise
was out of Colonel Campbell’s power; for though his income, by pay
and appointments, was handsome, his fortune was moderate and must
be all his daughter’s; but, by giving her an education, he hoped
to be supplying the means of respectable subsistence hereafter.
</p>

<p id="id1033457"><span id="id115670"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Such was Jane Fairfax’s history.  She had fallen into good hands,
known nothing but kindness from the Campbells, and been given
an excellent education.  Living constantly with right-minded
and well-informed people, her heart and understanding had received
every advantage of discipline and culture; and Colonel Campbell’s
residence being in London, every lighter talent had been done
full justice to, by the attendance of first-rate masters. 
Her disposition and abilities were equally worthy of all that
friendship could do; and at eighteen or nineteen she was, as far
as such an early age can be qualified for the care of children,
fully competent to the office of instruction herself; but she
was too much beloved to be parted with.  Neither father nor mother
could promote, and the daughter could not endure it.  The evil day
was put off.  It was easy to decide that she was still too young;
and Jane remained with them, sharing, as another daughter, in all
the rational pleasures of an elegant society, and a judicious
mixture of home and amusement, with only the drawback of the future,
the sobering suggestions of her own good understanding to remind
her that all this might soon be over.
</p>

<p id="id1033460"><span id="id115668"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
The affection of the whole family, the warm attachment of Miss
Campbell in particular, was the more honourable to each party
from the circumstance of Jane’s decided superiority both in beauty
and acquirements.  That nature had given it in feature could not
be unseen by the young woman, nor could her higher powers of mind
be unfelt by the parents.  They continued together with unabated
regard however, till the marriage of Miss Campbell, who by that chance,
that luck which so often defies anticipation in matrimonial affairs,
giving attraction to what is moderate rather than to what is superior,
engaged the affections of Mr. Dixon, a young man, rich and agreeable,
almost as soon as they were acquainted; and was eligibly
and happily settled, while Jane Fairfax had yet her bread to earn.
</p>

<p id="id1033454"><span id="id115683"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
This event had very lately taken place; too lately for any thing to be
yet attempted by her less fortunate friend towards entering on her path
of duty; though she had now reached the age which her own judgment
had fixed on for beginning.  She had long resolved that one-and-twenty
should be the period.  With the fortitude of a devoted novitiate,
she had resolved at one-and-twenty to complete the sacrifice,
and retire from all the pleasures of life, of rational intercourse,
equal society, peace and hope, to penance and mortification for ever.
</p>

<p id="id1033467"><span id="id115688"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
The good sense of Colonel and Mrs. Campbell could not oppose such
a resolution, though their feelings did.  As long as they lived,
no exertions would be necessary, their home might be hers for ever;
and for their own comfort they would have retained her wholly;
but this would be selfishness:—what must be at last, had better
be soon.  Perhaps they began to feel it might have been kinder
and wiser to have resisted the temptation of any delay, and spared
her from a taste of such enjoyments of ease and leisure as must
now be relinquished.  Still, however, affection was glad to catch
at any reasonable excuse for not hurrying on the wretched moment. 
She had never been quite well since the time of their daughter’s marriage;
and till she should have completely recovered her usual strength,
they must forbid her engaging in duties, which, so far from being
compatible with a weakened frame and varying spirits, seemed,
under the most favourable circumstances, to require something
more than human perfection of body and mind to be discharged with
tolerable comfort.
</p>

<p id="id1033470"><span id="id115694"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland, her account
to her aunt contained nothing but truth, though there might be some
truths not told.  It was her own choice to give the time of their
absence to Highbury; to spend, perhaps, her last months of perfect
liberty with those kind relations to whom she was so very dear: 
and the Campbells, whatever might be their motive or motives,
whether single, or double, or treble, gave the arrangement
their ready sanction, and said, that they depended more on a few
months spent in her native air, for the recovery of her health,
than on any thing else.  Certain it was that she was to come;
and that Highbury, instead of welcoming that perfect novelty which
had been so long promised it—Mr. Frank Churchill—must put up for
the present with Jane Fairfax, who could bring only the freshness
of a two years’ absence.
</p>

<p id="id1033473"><span id="id115701"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Emma was sorry;—to have to pay civilities to a person she did
not like through three long months!—to be always doing more than
she wished, and less than she ought!  Why she did not like Jane
Fairfax might be a difficult question to answer; Mr. Knightley
had once told her it was because she saw in her the really
accomplished young woman, which she wanted to be thought herself;
and though the accusation had been eagerly refuted at the time,
there were moments of self-examination in which her conscience could
not quite acquit her.  But “she could never get acquainted with her: 
she did not know how it was, but there was such coldness and reserve—
such apparent indifference whether she pleased or not—and then,
her aunt was such an eternal talker!—and she was made such a fuss
with by every body!—and it had been always imagined that they were
to be so intimate—because their ages were the same, every body had
supposed they must be so fond of each other.”  These were her reasons—
she had no better.
</p>

<p id="id1033464"><span id="id115709"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
It was a dislike so little just—every imputed fault was so magnified
by fancy, that she never saw Jane Fairfax the first time after any
considerable absence, without feeling that she had injured her;
and now, when the due visit was paid, on her arrival, after a two years’
interval, she was particularly struck with the very appearance
and manners, which for those two whole years she had been depreciating. 
Jane Fairfax was very elegant, remarkably elegant; and she had
herself the highest value for elegance.  Her height was pretty,
just such as almost every body would think tall, and nobody could
think very tall; her figure particularly graceful; her size a most
becoming medium, between fat and thin, though a slight appearance
of ill-health seemed to point out the likeliest evil of the two. 
Emma could not but feel all this; and then, her face—her features—
there was more beauty in them altogether than she had remembered;
it was not regular, but it was very pleasing beauty.  Her eyes,
a deep grey, with dark eye-lashes and eyebrows, had never been denied
their praise; but the skin, which she had been used to cavil at,
as wanting colour, had a clearness and delicacy which really needed
no fuller bloom.  It was a style of beauty, of which elegance
was the reigning character, and as such, she must, in honour,
by all her principles, admire it:—elegance, which, whether of person
or of mind, she saw so little in Highbury.  There, not to be vulgar,
was distinction, and merit.
</p>

<p id="id1033480"><span id="id115716"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
In short, she sat, during the first visit, looking at Jane Fairfax
with twofold complacency; the sense of pleasure and the sense
of rendering justice, and was determining that she would dislike
her no longer.  When she took in her history, indeed, her situation,
as well as her beauty; when she considered what all this elegance
was destined to, what she was going to sink from, how she was going
to live, it seemed impossible to feel any thing but compassion
and respect; especially, if to every well-known particular entitling
her to interest, were added the highly probable circumstance
of an attachment to Mr. Dixon, which she had so naturally started
to herself.  In that case, nothing could be more pitiable
or more honourable than the sacrifices she had resolved on. 
Emma was very willing now to acquit her of having seduced
Mr. Dixon’s actions from his wife, or of any thing mischievous
which her imagination had suggested at first.  If it were love,
it might be simple, single, successless love on her side alone. 
She might have been unconsciously sucking in the sad poison,
while a sharer of his conversation with her friend; and from the best,
the purest of motives, might now be denying herself this visit
to Ireland, and resolving to divide herself effectually from
him and his connexions by soon beginning her career of laborious duty.
</p>

<p id="id1033483"><span id="id115722"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Upon the whole, Emma left her with such softened, charitable feelings,
as made her look around in walking home, and lament that Highbury
afforded no young man worthy of giving her independence;
nobody that she could wish to scheme about for her.
</p>

<p id="id1033491"><span id="id115733"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
These were charming feelings—but not lasting.  Before she had
committed herself by any public profession of eternal friendship for
Jane Fairfax, or done more towards a recantation of past prejudices
and errors, than saying to Mr. Knightley, “She certainly is handsome;
she is better than handsome!”  Jane had spent an evening at Hartfield
with her grandmother and aunt, and every thing was relapsing much
into its usual state.  Former provocations reappeared.  The aunt
was as tiresome as ever; more tiresome, because anxiety for her
health was now added to admiration of her powers; and they had to
listen to the description of exactly how little bread and butter
she ate for breakfast, and how small a slice of mutton for dinner,
as well as to see exhibitions of new caps and new workbags for her
mother and herself; and Jane’s offences rose again.  They had music;
Emma was obliged to play; and the thanks and praise which necessarily
followed appeared to her an affectation of candour, an air
of greatness, meaning only to shew off in higher style her own very
superior performance.  She was, besides, which was the worst of all,
so cold, so cautious!  There was no getting at her real opinion. 
Wrapt up in a cloak of politeness, she seemed determined
to hazard nothing.  She was disgustingly, was suspiciously reserved.
</p>

<p id="id1033477"><span id="id115741"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
If any thing could be more, where all was most, she was more
reserved on the subject of Weymouth and the Dixons than any thing. 
She seemed bent on giving no real insight into Mr. Dixon’s character,
or her own value for his company, or opinion of the suitableness
of the match.  It was all general approbation and smoothness;
nothing delineated or distinguished.  It did her no service however. 
Her caution was thrown away.  Emma saw its artifice, and returned
to her first surmises.  There probably was something more to conceal
than her own preference; Mr. Dixon, perhaps, had been very near
changing one friend for the other, or been fixed only to Miss Campbell,
for the sake of the future twelve thousand pounds.
</p>

<p id="id1033497"><span id="id115750"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
The like reserve prevailed on other topics.  She and Mr. Frank Churchill
had been at Weymouth at the same time.  It was known that they were
a little acquainted; but not a syllable of real information could Emma
procure as to what he truly was.  “Was he handsome?”—”She believed
he was reckoned a very fine young man.“  ”Was he agreeable?“—
“He was generally thought so.”  “Did he appear a sensible young man;
a young man of information?”—”At a watering-place, or in a common
London acquaintance, it was difficult to decide on such points. 
Manners were all that could be safely judged of, under a much longer
knowledge than they had yet had of Mr. Churchill.  She believed
every body found his manners pleasing.“  Emma could not forgive her.
</p>



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